


The Prince and the Tailor

by What-s_Happened_Now (Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark)



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bad Parenting, Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Prince Howard, Tailor Vince, alternative universe, non-con elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 00:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16881759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/What-s_Happened_Now
Summary: Howard is the prince of Camden, a position he wants nothing to do with. His people don't like him because he isn't as empty-headed as them. His father wants Howard to be accepted by the people, so he hires a tailor to make a new wardrobe and a new admiration for his son.Howard, always defiant in his quiet ways, finds the one thing his father doesn't want: love with his tailor, Vince Noir.





	1. Prologue

~ * ~

Howard hurried along after his father, but he was small and his father was tall, and the distance grew too great.

He sighed, knowing it was no use to call after his father. The king had important business to attend to. Having his ten-year-old son tag along was abnormal anyway. He’d heard the other dignitaries muttering under their breath, but the king of Camden had a small staff, and there was no one he could spare to look after his son.

Howard sank to the floor, consigned to wait until his father returned. It was better this way, he thought. At least he could work on studying the tapestries hung in this hallway.

A young blond boy tumbled out from the kitchen, a pastry clutched in his filthy hands. He spied Howard just as he went to bite it.

He glanced back at the kitchen before shrugging and dropping to the floor next to Howard and offering half of the pastry. Despite the filling smearing out across his fingers and the way the crust was smushed unappetizingly, Howard accepted it.

He’d not been gifted many things in his short life as the prince, and much less from a friend, but this strange boy, with his mussed hair and sparkling eyes, seemed quite willing to sit next to him and chat about nothing in particular while they finished the pastry.

“I’m Vince,” the boy said in the middle of a long-winded story about how he’d been stolen from his dad by the cook of Howard’s castle as they’d all lived in the jungles of India. It sounded like the plot of a novel to Howard. “Guess she wanted a helper, eh?” Vince winked at Howard.

“Want to see my room?” he offered once the boy had licked both his and Howard’s fingers clean.

Vince shot a look at the kitchen before nodding. “Sure. Not like I’ve got anything else on. Besides, it’ll be brilliant. Go on then, lead the way.”

It wasn’t the first day that Howard had thought he wasn’t what his father wanted, but it was the first time he was actively aware that what he was doing was something his father would disapprove of as he lay on his bed, holding his encyclopedia so he and Vince could stare at the pictures.

Vince couldn’t read, but Howard decided that wouldn’t stand. Before he let Vince head back to the kitchen, he implored him to take a stack of papers and a pencil. “Practise your letters,” he said. “Please. I’ve always wanted a pen pal.”

Vince looked from the papers to Howard and shrugged. “All right, Howard,” he said, and disappeared from Howard’s room.

Howard threw himself onto his bed and wondered at the fluttering feeling surging in his stomach. Surely the pastry hadn’t been poisoned? If it had been, Vince would have been ill too.

He rolled over and covered his eyes. He wished his mom was still around to ask, but she’d gone away when he was little. Howard was certain she had died in childbirth, but his father refused to talk about his wife, and the servants were too scared to go against their king’s wishes.

Howard sighed loudly. If he was truthful with himself, which he only tried once a day because being a prince was all about lying, he knew what the feeling was.

It was love.

He loved Vince.

His father would hate him.

~ * ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've done my best to 1) emulate the language used by Howard and Vince across all mediums, and 2) use the correct spellings and terminology for things. If I've made a mistake or something is blatantly wrong, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you to all who read.


	2. One

~ * ~

~ Ten Years Later ~

Howard never saw Vince again. The cook was sacked after a nearly inedible meal was served to the king, and Howard assumed Vince had gone with her. He had no address to send his letters to, and he had no way of knowing if Vince had learned to read anyway.

Howard still wrote the letters, and nearly ten years later, he had a bundle of them stashed inside his pillow. He would read them sometimes, trying to recall the way Vince’s hair had fallen across his forehead in a messy fringe, or the way his eyes had lit up at nearly everything Howard had to say to him.

He tried to imagine what Vince would look like now, but his imagining faculties weren’t nearly developed enough for that. Nothing could compare to the boy he had known for a single day, nay a few mere hours.

No doubt, Vince had long forgotten the time he’d spent with Howard a decade ago, but Howard read fairy tales, and he wished with all his might that this was one too.

After all, Vince had the background required of the mysterious hero and Howard had the background of the tragic heroine.

Howard was easily able to keep up with his father now and often sat in on the meetings with the various advisors of things. No one said he couldn’t be there anymore, and for that he was grateful.

Politics interested Howard to no end, but it seemed his father wasn’t the king of anything except the idiots.

Camden was self-obsessed and filled to the brim with a myriad of characters all trying to outdo one another with their manner of dress and speech.

Inside the castle, Howard felt protected from the flighty, useless traits of his people. But, every time he stepped out, he was pointed and laughed at.

There was nothing wrong with tweed, sir. It was practical and comfortable.

His father didn’t agree and told him that he had hired a local tailor to make Howard a new wardrobe.

“This shall help endear you to your people,” his father said one evening over cheese toasties and soup, the only thing the new cook could make without burning. Howard paused mid-bite. He frowned. Did his father expect him to dress as the tarts did? To wear so little in the winter as to catch his death of cold? To wear so much in the summer that he overheated and had to be constantly rescued?

No thank you, sir. Howard would remain as he was. If his fashion sense insulted the delicate sensibilities of his people, then they didn’t have any sensibilities at all.

Instead of protesting as he wanted, Howard swallowed his mostly un-chewed toasty and said, “Yes, Father.”

He grimaced into his soup and refused to eat the rest of the night.

~ * ~

Three days later, he ran into a young man in the middle of his chambers.

He didn’t know this person and assumed, rightly, that this was the tailor his father had hired.

“I’m sorry, but your services are not required,” he said, tapping the tailor on the shoulder.

The tailor straightened from where he was digging through a carpetbag. “Howard,” he chirped, smiling brightly.

“Vince,” Howard realised. His hair was darker, honey-brown instead of the blond of his youth. He was thin, wiry, as if he hadn’t had enough to eat during his formative years but was strong in spite of it.

He was also shorter than Howard now. Not by much, just enough that should Howard want to, he could step up to the tips of his toes and drop a kiss to the top of Vince’s head. And how Howard wished to do just that.

Instead, he tucked his hands safely behind his back and settled back on his heels.

Vince studied him quietly before turning back to his bag and pulling out a cloth measuring tape.

“That’s not necessary,” Howard said nervously as Vince approached him.

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is my job.”

Vince snapped the tape open and then waited.

Howard studied him. “You learned to read?” he asked. “You’ve been well?”

“I did learn.” Vince fiddled with the tape. “It was hard not to when you’d gone to such trouble to give me those papers. Listen, your dad hired me to make you new clothes. I’m really good at it, so if you don’t mind, please stand still, legs apart.”

Howard drew in a sharp breath but obediently let his legs separate. Vince’s touch was gentle, and all too soon he was done and putting away his tools.

“I’ll have a few options for you next week.”

“Wait.” Howard caught Vince’s wrist, shocked at how small the bones felt in his fingers. “Will I see you again before then? Please?”

Vince sucked his lips into his mouth and then let them out again, shiny and wet. That swooping feeling came back, and Howard’s knees knocked against each other as he waited for Vince’s answer.

“If I have some time, I’ll come to your room,” Vince finally said.

Howard let out his breath. “Thank you.”

Vince smiled. “All right, Howard.”

Then he was gone.

Howard smiled to himself. He could tolerate the new clothes, he decided, if it meant that he’d get to see Vince again.

A sobering thought was that his father would definitely not approve of Howard’s inclination. There had been many barbed comments over the years of Howard finding the right love and not abandoning his post as future king of Camden.

The right love wasn’t something Howard thought about often, but with Vince back in his life, he thought he might have a chance at it. Oh how his father would hate him.

The thought wasn’t enough to stop him from taking a long shower, hand on himself as he remembered the way Vince had used his hand to keep the tape in place as he’d measured Howard very intimately.

He couldn’t wait to see Vince again.

~ * ~

A few days later, Vince returned laden with bags and bags of material. He set up a sewing machine in the corner of Howard’s sitting room. With Howard’s help, and the few servants left, all of whom looked relieved to see Vince (but that could be because Howard had been moping since last he’d seen his one-day friend—a ten-year mope got old quickly), he got his entire workspace in order. Howard winced at the flimsy material covering a table but was glad to notice that nearly all the outerwear material seemed to be tweed or corduroy or at least something he wouldn’t mind wearing.

Vince measured him again, and again Howard felt that it was more sensual than Vince meant. Embarrassed, he settled at his desk to write letters to his mother’s sisters, all of whom were coming to a ball his father was throwing in his honor in a few weeks, once Vince had completed most of the new wardrobe.

“Hey, Howard,” Vince said over the sound of his scissors cutting through the fabric. “Who do you think would win in a fight, Roger Daltrey or Robert Plant?”

“Why is that important?” Howard scratched his pen over the paper. His mother’s favorite sister’s daughter, his cousin Edna, would be the first to arrive. Howard couldn’t wait to show her Vince. She was inclined the same way that he was. That is to say, she did not care for a husband. In fact, he should ask if she planned to bring along Violet, the woman she was spending her days with now.

“It isn’t,” Vince said. “That’s the point. It’s just fun.”

“Well it’s stupid. Now hush, I’m concentrating.”

“So’m I.” Vince kept chattering as he worked, and Howard found that unlike other noise, he didn’t mind it.

He stared at the tailor in amazement.

Howard was not one to suffer fools lightly. It was why his father was trying to gain the favor of the people with the new clothing.

After a moment, he turned back to his letter, writing to Edna “I think I’m in love.” He sealed the letter quickly before he could change his mind.

“Are you staying for supper?” he asked Vince when he realised they had both forgotten lunch.

Vince shrugged. “Naw,” he drawled in a perfect imitation of an American accent. “Not hungry, baby. I subsist on compliments and kind words.”

“Too bad you won’t find many of those here.” Howard waited until Vince turned from where he was stacking the cut fabric before he grinned at him. “Come on, there is plenty of food.”

Vince shrugged again but he followed Howard when he led him to the dining room.

Father was already seated at the head of the table. He looked displeased to see Vince trailing Howard, and for the first time since Vince had come back into his life, Howard looked at him as his father would: a working class man with long hair, high cheekbones, tight trousers, and a shirt that even on Vince’s small frame was still stretched tight.

“Hello, Mr. King, sir,” Vince said. He clasped his hands together and bowed deeply. The frown Howard’s father returned was severe.

“Father, this is Vince, the tailor you hired. I thought it might be beneficial to him to see me in different situations so that he may better design the clothes.”

Although the displeased look stayed, his father inclined his head, and Vince was allowed to sit a few chairs down from them. Howard expected the same inane chatter he’d listened to all day to bubble out of Vince, but instead, Vince sat quietly. He barely touched anything placed in front of him and always waited until both Howard and the king had mostly eaten before he tasted anything.

Afterwards, he bowed again and took his leave.

Before Howard could escape, his father called him to his side. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, bringing that floozy in here to flaunt in my face, but I won’t stand for it.”

Howard blinked. “Vince is my friend,” he protested, certain that his father hadn’t known about him jerking off to thoughts of Vince these past few nights.

“He’s beneath us,” his father sneered. “And rightfully so. Don’t think I don’t remember that day so long ago. Did you ever wonder why I dismissed the best cook we’d had in years?”

“I thought it was because the meals declined.”

The king shook his head. “I saw you that day, you know. Lying on your bed, that tart’s head on your shoulder, you reading to him like he was a girl you’d taken a fancy to. No, sir. No son of mine is going to lie with a man as he should with a woman. Camden won’t stand for it either.”

Howard drew himself to his full height. “What if I don’t want to be king of Camden?” he demanded. “What if instead I want to seek love wherever I shall find it?”

“And you think you’ll find it in the arms of your tailor?” The king scoffed. “If he hadn’t come so highly recommended, I would fire him right now. Howard, I’m warning you, stay away from him. Don’t let me catch you staring at him like you were tonight.”

“No, Father.”

His father didn’t reply. Howard took it as a dismissal and bowed to his father.

He returned to his chambers, furious beyond measure. He was a grown man; his father had no right to tell him what to do in his private life, not after admitting he had meddled years ago.

Howard felt robbed. He could have spent ten years basking in the presence of Vince. Instead they were strangers, and Vince technically worked for Howard. There was no way he would even attempt to seduce him now. Not that he would have before. He was an honorable man, a man of his word. He meant to keep it, yes sir.

He found Vince in his bedroom, bent over one of Howard’s sleeping shirts.

“What are you doing?”

Vince jumped, spinning around. He had pins between his teeth and a patch of fabric in his hand. “I thought,” he mumbled around the pins, “that as long as I’m here, I might as well mend your old clothes so that your father won’t have an excuse to throw them out.” He looked Howard up and down as he pulled the pins out and stuck them through his sleeve. “You’ll want to have something familiar to change out of once I have the new clothes done.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Howard sighed as he sank into his reading chair. Vince shot him a worried glance as he folded the shirt and set it atop the chest of drawers.

“Is something wrong, Howard?”

“No. Nothing. Nothing really. Just.” He sighed again. “My father doesn’t want me to associate with you.”

“Oh.” Vince looked from his pins to Howard and back again. “So, I guess I’ll just get my things…?”

“Oh no. Not at all. My father says you’re to complete the job. I just can’t associate with you anymore.” He waited until Vince was looking at him again before letting a smile curl his lips. “Of course, we’re not going to pay him any mind.”

“I can’t come to dinner again,” Vince said, returning the smile.

“Obviously.”

Vince sighed. “I’d better go. My mum’s waiting for me. Promised her I’d come back before dark, and it’s definitely after that.”

“All right then. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Sure thing. See ya, Howard.”

Howard was pretty sure Vince was still in the building when he shuffled into his bathroom and masturbated again to the thought of Vince kneeling next to his inseam, breath ghosting over the front of his trousers.

He didn’t care.

He was in love, and nothing his father said would stop it.

~ * ~

Of course, standing up to his father was another matter entirely, and hiding in his rooms, watching Vince work only helped for so long. Howard still had meetings and classes to attend. Meals were quiet, but Howard had gotten the kitchen staff to send lunch to his rooms so that he could eat with Vince.

Vince was fast and neat, and inside of three weeks, Howard had six new shirts, two pants, a few ties, one vest, and a full suit.

Vince finished it the night that the king announced that the ball was to be in three days’ time.

Howard stole one of the invitations and wrote Vince’s name on it. He slid it into Vince’s pocket when he hugged him the next night.

“Surely you’ll help me get dressed?”

Edna and Violet, who had arrived the previous night, both nodded.

“Why me?” Vince asked. He paused in his mending, having stopped making clothes for the night.

“Check your pocket, silly boy,” Violet giggled.

Vince patted far too many places before he found the invitation. Immediately, he tried giving it back to Howard, protesting, “I can’t go. I’ve got nothing to wear! Besides, if your dad doesn’t want us associating, won’t he be mad that you’ve invited me?”

“Not if you come in disguise,” Edna said. She stood up and threw open her trunk. Howard realised why she had insisted it be placed in his rooms. Inside was a long emerald green evening gown with a matching shawl and jewellery.

It looked like it would be the perfect match for Vince.

“Welcome to the evening, Ms. Vince,” Edna said, shaking out the dress and handing it to Vince.

“I-I can’t. What if the king catches me? What if he finds out?”

“No one in this room is going to tell another soul,” Violet said.

Vince still looked unconvinced, but Howard could tell he liked the gown pressed to his chest.

“Shall we see if it fits?”

“And that’s my cue to step out.” Howard waved at them. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Vince. At the ball.”

“Cheers,” Vince returned distractedly, stroking a hand over the satin of the gown.

He’d look beautiful in that colour, Howard thought, moving through the halls quickly and efficiently. Presently, he found himself in front of his father’s chambers.

Howard paused, listening to his father inside.

He was talking to someone, possibly another relative as several of Howard’s aunts were supposed to arrive in short order.

He caught his name, and despite being intrigued beyond measure, Howard made himself return to his side of the castle.

“Oh there you are,” Violet exclaimed half an hour later when she found him curled up in the library, books of Grecian heroes surrounding his person. “We’re ready for you now.”

Howard carefully marked his place, stacked his books, and tidied up before following Violet back to his rooms.

The study was empty, Vince’s work put away for the night, and the trunk was closed.

“Where are they?” he asked Violet. She rolled her eyes at him before throwing open his bedroom door.

Howard stepped through and froze.

Edna was sitting on his bed, holding his pillow on her lap, but the imminent discovery of his letters to Vince wasn’t what stopped him. No, what stopped him was Vince himself, standing in the middle of the room, the gown clinging to his body, a pearl choker wrapped around his neck, shawl around his back and over his arms, leaving his shoulders bare. Long white gloves covered his forearms and hands. His hair had been brushed and teased until it could be swept into a neat bun with thin tendrils escaping to frame his face. His fringe had been trimmed so that it swooped over one eye, leaving the other startlingly clear.

His face was made up, skin smoothed down and lips cherry red.

“What d’you think?” Vince asked, nervous. His chest heaved with breath, and the way he’d been cinched, Howard’s money was on a corset, he had a little cleavage that invited the illusion of a feminine body more than his already narrow waist and apple-arse. He was also in heels. For once, he was the same height as Howard.

“I think you’ll do nicely,” Howard breathed. “That is, if you can dance.”

Vince looked outraged. “Of course I can dance. My mum didn’t spend the last five years teaching me waltzes and tangos for nothing.”

“Five years?” Howard remembered the story of Vince living in a jungle. He’d long ago dismissed it as complete fiction.

“Sure. Once the woman who kidnapped me died, my mum was able to win me back without involving the courts. She’s spent the last five years teaching me her trade and how to be a proper gentleman.”

“Where was she when you were living in the jungle?”

“She was still in England. My parents didn’t stay together, and my dad ran off with me and the cook. And then the cook got tired of my dad and brought me back, but my mum was too poor to fight her for rightful custody.” Vince shrugged his thin shoulders.

“What do we do about the body hair?” Violet asked suddenly, and Howard frowned.

“Body hair?”

“My legs, my arms,” Vince said. He lifted an arm to show off a decent nest. “Under here.”

“Um.”

Edna flapped a hand. “He’ll shave it. It’s so obvious. We’ll help you, Vince, if you’ve never done it before.”

“It’s settled then,” Howard declared. “Thank you, Edna, Violet. Goodnight, Vince.”

Howard returned to the library while they finished what they needed. Hours later, when he finally climbed into his bed and fell asleep, he dreamt of Vince in that emerald dress, spinning and spinning while Howard watched him.

~ * ~


	3. Two

 

~ * ~

The ball was bloody boring, and Howard wished he could be anywhere else but here.

His father had commanded him to dance with every eligible female in the entire room, and by the time the first set was over, Howard was exhausted.

He sank into a chair with a cup of punch, his cousin and her girlfriend to his left, his father to his right. He was in the perfect position to see—and in the middle of a swallow—when Vince appeared. His father thumped him on the back as he choked over his cup. Even with the preview in his room last night, he hadn’t been prepared for this. The skin Vince was showing was porcelain, cream with little bits of crusty cream for his ears and nose. His eyes were bluer than the sky after a lovely shower. His lips shiny and red.

“Who’s this lovely lady?” the king asked when Vince made his way over to them, walking in the heels as if they were extensions of his feet. Not even the women who grew up in heels had as much grace.

“Someone from Leeds,” Edna leaned across Howard to say. “I brought her with me. Thought she was perfect for my cousin.”

“I’ll say.” the king nodded appreciatively. Vince curtseyed, and Howard noticed how his father’s eyes never left the suggestion of Vince’s breasts.

“Prince Howard,” Vince said softly, vowels rounded and feminine. He must have been practicing because the Vince Howard had been listening to this past week was definitely male and could not pass as female as soon as he opened his mouth.

“A dance,” the king crowed, kissing the back of Vince’s hand.

“Your son, perhaps.” Vince blushed immediately afterwards, turning to Edna and Violet. “Your words did not do justice,” he simpered. “He is more handsome than you led me to believe.”

“Truly my son is handsome,” the king said, shooting a glare at his niece. “But he is promised to another. Perhaps you could dance with me in his stead?”

Vince shot a look of terror at Howard but he took the king’s hand all the same and let him lead him out onto the dance floor.

Immediately, the king put a hand on the swell of Vince’s arse, the other clutched in Vince’s.

“I’ll cut in in a few moments,” Howard said, more to reassure himself than Edna or Violet.

“Hurry, Howard, before your father gropes him in public.”

“He’s already doing that,” Howard pointed out. At the twin looks of disbelief sent his way, Howard set his cup down and stood up.

He slid in between his father and Vince easily, murmuring a soft, “Apologies, Father,” as he went. Vince sagged against him in relief. He blushed hotly when the king smacked his arse as he returned to his seat.

“Are you all right?” Howard pulled back enough to study Vince. His eyeliner was beginning to run because there were tears on his face. “Vince?” he whispered.

“I’m fine,” Vince assured him. “I just wasn’t expecting to have to fool your dad so close-up.”

“He made you cry. Vince, that’s not being all right.”

“I’m fine. Please, let’s just dance.”

They manage to dance two slow waltzes, Vince’s head tucked under Howard’s chin, before the set ended abruptly.

“I have an announcement to make,” the king shouted. Howard froze, Vince turning in his arms, so that the both of them were facing his father as he stood on a short box.

“What is that about?” Vince whispered.

Howard hushed him.

“It is my great pleasure to announce the engagement between my son, Prince Howard T.J. Moon, and the lovely Princess of Paris, Jeanne Jaquettie, daughter of the enigmatic and brilliant King Jean Claude Jaquettie.”

At his words, a woman dressed all in white, her long, dark hair piled up similarly to Vince’s, her face made up to match his as well, stepped out from behind him. Where Vince had pearls, she had a necklace with an emblem. Her family crest, Howard surmised.

“Who’s that?”

Howard ignored Vince, too busy fighting the burning, closing feeling in his throat. He was engaged? Where had this come from?

As far as Howard had known, aside from the off-comment made to Vince before the dances, there was no betrothal in place. Certainly not with the Princess of Paris.

“Now what a minute,” Howard said, but it was drowned out by the cheers of the crowd. “Wait a goddamn minute.”

“Howard?” Vince asked, his voice back to its usual form. “Howard, what’s happening?”

“My father,” Howard replied through gritted teeth. Oh, this was just like the bastard too. Completely ignore Howard’s wishes, his inclinations, and set him up with one of the idiots.

He didn’t have any proof, of course, that Jeanne Jaquettie was an idiot like the rest of Camden, but if she’d agreed to marry him based on the new wardrobe alone, then perhaps she was the most stupid of them all.

Howard propelled Vince through the crowd, shaking off the congratulatory hands, until he stood in front of his father.

Jeanne Jaquettie smiled at him and nodded at Vince.

“Howard, dance with your bride,” the king said. He pulled Vince from Howard’s lax grip and moved away.

Howard turned to the Parisian princess. “I don’t mean to be rude,” he began, and she exclaimed something in French.

“Ah, English?” he tried. She shook her head, answering in French again. Howard swallowed the curse that immediately bubbled on his tongue. Of course his father would find the one woman who couldn’t communicate with him. He turned to his cousin. “What do I do?”

Edna shrugged. “Speak to your father?”

Easier said than done.

Howard sat out the rest of the dances, Jeanne next to him, while he watched his father twirl Vince all over the dance floor. Several times, Vince had to adjust the king’s hand from slipping down his backside as they moved, and at the end of the night when everyone was ready to retire, the king forced a kiss onto Vince.

At last, the king sat down, sucking down cup after cup of punch.

Vince curtseyed and sashayed away. Howard couldn’t call after him without giving him away, but it felt like a mistake to watch as Vince slipped out the door, already wiping away his lipstick.

“Such a lovely lady,” the king remarked. “Surely you’re not letting your eyes wander? Your bride-to-be is right there.”

“I’ve had my eye on her for a long time,” Howard said. “Not this woman you’ve pulled out of nowhere.” Jeanne’s expression didn’t change, and Howard was glad she didn’t understand him.

“Had your eye on her?” the king repeated, incredulous. “Son, you’ve only just met her. Remember? Your cousin brought her down from Leeds.”

“We’ve been exchanging letters,” Howard lied, thinking of the letters still in his pillow. “We’re in love, Father. You can’t make me marry someone else.”

“I can and I will,” the king hissed, gripping Howard’s arm so tightly it felt as if he was doing real damage. Howard couldn’t pull free. He hadn’t ever experienced his father’s temper, just his crushing disappointment.

Surely his temper would be no different?

Except, the king gestured to two of his guards. “Make sure Prince Howard stays in his room for the next few days while the wedding is prepared.”

“You’re marrying me off right away?!”

The king eyed him coldly. “And make sure that floozy dressmaker doesn’t come near him again. I don’t want him corrupted any more than he already is.”

Howard had nary a second to rub his arm when his father released him before the guards had him in a good grip.

He was frog marched to his chambers, his cousin and her girlfriend trailing them. The guards chased them away before propelling Howard through his chambers’ doors. He half-hoped that Vince would be in his room, but the front room was empty. Vince’s tables and sewing machine still stood but the tailor was nowhere to be seen.

“Sorry about this, your highness,” one of the guards, a man who claimed to go by many names, said.

“I know, Rudy. Can you promise that if I try to leave, you won’t stop me?”

Rudy shared a look with his fellow guard. “If it comes to that,” he finally said, “no. We won’t stop you. To be fair, this lug will probably be somewhere he shouldn’t be, sticking parts of himself in places that they shouldn’t be either.”

“Hey,” the second guard, Spider, protested. “Just because I know how to love a woman while you only love your sabre.”

Rudy looked shifty at the accusation, but Howard didn’t care. He slammed his door in their faces, taking petty satisfaction in the way Spider yelped as his toes were run over.

Howard stormed into his bedroom, slamming that door too. Then he threw himself on his bed, clutching his pillow and the letters inside.

He pulled them out, studying them. He’d always written Vince’s name on them, but he didn’t know his last name or even how to find his address. And now it seemed as if Vince had slipped through his fingers again.

He might as well marry that Parisian woman like his father wanted.

He wiped at his eyes, drying tears he was maybe a little ashamed to be crying.

A tapping at the window startled him, and he stuffed the letters back in their hiding place before he threw open his curtains.

Vince, still dressed in the emerald gown, clung to the bars affixed to the outside. Howard opened the window, using brute force to bend the bars out enough that Vince was able to slip inside. He perched on the bed, legs tucked under himself. Somewhere he’d lost the shawl and his shoes, and the choker of pearls looked like it was actually choking him.

“Vince, you’re here.”

“Yeah, I am. Howard, I’ve come to ask you to run away with me.”

“But I don’t even know your last name.”

Vince frowned at him. “It was literally one of the first things I said to you,” he said. “Whatever. It’s Noir. Vince K. Noir.”

“Vince K. Noir,” Howard repeated, committing the name to memory.

“Anyway, that’s not the point. Look, Howard, your dad is going to make you marry that woman.”

“And soon.”

“So, why don’t you come away with me? We can go somewhere else. I can find work anywhere as a tailor, and I can teach you so that you can do some too.”

“It’s no good,” Howard said, shoulders sagging. “My father will never let me leave. If I do, he’ll just hunt me down, and then where would we be? I’d be back here, married to that woman anyway, and you’d be in the dungeon.”

“Don’t be ridiculous; there’s no dungeon here.”

“There is. My granddad used to throw people he didn’t like in there. I don’t want you to end up down there.”

“I won’t,” Vince said. “Please, Howard. I love you. I want to be with you. Forever and ever. No matter what your dad does, he can’t take our love away.”

“But he can throw you in the dungeon or put you to death, and then what does our love do for you? No, sir. I won’t be responsible for that. It’s better to do what my father wants and marry that woman.”

They argued for a few more heated minutes, insults climbing in viciousness and pettiness before Vince’s face closed off abruptly. “That woman has a name,” he said icily. “I suggest you start using it. She’s going to be your wife, after all.”

He jumped off the bed and was out the window before Howard could move.

“Wait, Vince. Just wait a minute. Please?”

Vince paused, just barely still inside. Howard grabbed his face and kissed him as hard as he dared. Vince kissed back and then pulled away entirely. “Goodbye, Howard. I’ll still love you forever even if you won’t do what’s right for yourself.”

And then he was gone.

Howard stared into the night long after Vince had dug his shoes and shawl out of the bushes and traipsed off the grounds.

Vince was right that Howard wouldn’t do anything to chase his own desires, and kissing Vince had been nothing more than doing what felt right in that moment. As long as it would endanger Vince, Howard would do nothing about his love and affection for the tailor. He would marry that woman—Jeanne—and make his father happy. And Vince? Vince would live. But Howard would remain heartbroken for the rest of his natural life.

Howard pulled out the letters once more and settled in at his desk to write Vince’s full name on all the envelopes.

If he was ever in a position where he felt comfortable doing so, he planned to mail them. Vince deserved that much.

~ * ~


	4. Three

~ * ~

The wedding preparations progressed quickly. Too quickly for Howard’s taste. He was tasked with showing Jeanne around with the guards as an escort. It almost felt normal except for how they couldn’t have conversations because of the language barrier.

Howard found himself telling her about Vince, about the day they’d spent as children and then the days with Vince working on Howard’s clothes while Howard studied his princely duties and they chatted.

“I wrote him letters,” he told her. “Lots of letters. Written three already today.”

She said something back in French, and Howard nodded like he understood.

He thought perhaps she had someone waiting for her in Paris, that she would understand that they were getting married, and she should perhaps protest it more effectively than he could.

His father refused to even listen to him when he tried to talk to him about policies, so Howard knew he had no chance. He was quickly losing hope, and he knew it was his fault for not standing up to his father more or for not running away with Vince when he’d offered.

As it was, even his time with his cousins was limited. The only person he got to talk to was Jeanne. She was sweet and a good listener, but Howard didn’t want to marry her. He didn’t feel the same flutters as he did with Vince. If he could just get Jeanne to understand, then he could get the wedding called off.

He had successfully managed to push the wedding back a week by claiming that Vince had only made the one suit, and surely he couldn’t be expected to wear the same suit for his wedding? Cheekily, he’d added, unless he was meant to wear one of his old things?

His father had gone mad, searching for a tailor half as talented as Vince.

Meanwhile, Howard had refused to let the guards move Vince’s things from his front room, hoping that he could then parlay it into an excuse to go outside the castle. So far, since his father wouldn’t even converse with him during meals aside from berating him about his still un-Camden-like style, he hadn’t had the chance to propose it.

He sighed.

He was writing another letter to Vince to stick with the others when he suddenly made up his mind. If he never got an answer from his father, was he truly banned from returning the tailor’s equipment to him?

He folded the letter neatly, addressed it again, and tied it in the bundle. Then, he gathered a few clothes, some new, some old, the letters, and Vince’s sewing machine.

He put everything into his cousin’s trunk, glad that it was new-fangled and had wheels on it.

Howard poked his head out from his rooms to find that Rudy was alone. Spider accompanied them on the excursions, but if Howard was in his room for hours on end, Spider would scuttle off and have relations. Several of the women wore permanently blissful expressions and sighed whenever asked about “That guard.”

“Rudy,” Howard hissed. The guard looked at him impassively. “Hey, so I’m going now. Please don’t tell anyone I’ve gone. I’ll be back in a month.”

“A month, boy? You’re to be married on the morrow. At least have the decency to wait until after the ceremony before you run away. A widow is much preferable to being abandoned at the altar.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just don’t tell anyone where I’ve gone.”

He left while Rudy looked like he was getting ready for another lecture. It wasn’t something Howard needed to hear, so he dragged the trunk outside and just walked away.

It was easier than he imagined, dressed in one of his old outfits, hauling a trunk on wheels. He would have thought he would have stood out immediately, but no one blinked at him. In fact, everyone he encountered hissed in disgust and ducked away from him.

Now, where to find Vince?

Howard climbed onto the train and settled in, staring at the passing city.

He had no idea where to start.

Maybe this was a mistake?

No. Definitely no. Howard needed Vince in his life. Nothing Vince touched was a mistake. Not even Howard.

With that kindness in mind, Howard leaned against the window and drifted off.

~ * ~

When he awoke, it was in a strange town that he didn’t recognize.

The conductor shook his shoulder. “Off you go, sonny-jim me-lad,” he said with a jovial smile.

Howard returned it uncertainly. He gathered his trunk, well, his cousin’s, and headed for the exit.

He stumbled out into a dreary day that felt more at home than the bright, if somewhat dingy, Camden. He drew in a large lungful of air and stepped off the curb into the path of speeding lorry. Someone grabbed the back of his jacket and hauled him back to safety.

“Thank you, my kind sir.” Howard turned to shake his savior’s hand and nearly toppled off the curb again when he realised it was a gorilla standing there.

Behind the gorilla was a diminutive man with a turban and a set of robes more suited to a play of _Arabian Nights_ than whatever English town they were in right now. “All right there?” the turban-man said, eyeing Howard with disinterest.

“Ye-yeah, yes. I’m fine,” Howard stammered.

“Good for you. Be more careful, will you?”

“Yes. Sure. Certainly.”

“What’s in the case?” the gorilla asked. “A body?” He laughed to himself before shuffling after the turban-man.

Howard shrugged it off. Gorillas were weird creatures especially wandering about in the bright daylight, not a zoo or a jungle around.

Thinking of jungles reminded Howard of Vince, and he stopped moving to look down at his trunk filled with Vince’s things.

He needed to find where he was before he could try to find his love. But, he reasoned, at least he was away from his father, and if he didn’t know where he was, surely his father didn’t either.

Howard felt bad about leaving Jeanne to deal with his father alone when she couldn’t speak a lick of English, but this was something he needed to do. He needed to find Vince, to feel him in his arms again, to kiss him, to love him. To resolve the fluttery feelings he’d been having since he was ten years old.

But where to start?

The first sign he came across that seemed remotely welcoming was a secondhand store straining under the weight of a series of flats built on top of it. _Nabootique_ , Howard read. It seemed exotic. Like the turban-man.

Howard rolled his shoulders, squaring them, and shoved the door open.

A bell above his head tinkled his arrival, and he gazed in wonder at the dusty interior.

Jars filled with pickled things lined the walls, the light passing through them and colouring everything orangey-brown.

Howard thought he saw a hat in one jar, and when he stopped to study it, he heard someone moving about behind him.

“Welcome to the _Nabootique_ , the shop where you will find everything including what you’ve been looking for,” a voice chirped.

Howard spun around to find Vince standing there, hands on his hips, a smile curving his lips.

“Howard,” he said.

“Vince.” Howard took in the changes Vince had managed in their week apart. He’d dyed his honey-brown hair to a deep raven, and it was curled onto his shoulders, feathered like actual feathers. His lips were still painted red, and his nails matched.

“Howard,” Vince said again, his smile grew wider, and Howard couldn’t help beckoning him closer. Vince leapt at him, and Howard caught him.

They kissed as they embraced, and Howard felt himself melting, sinking to the floor, clutching a fistful of Vince’s shirt while the other settled on his lower back, fingers splayed across his skin.

“Howard, you came.” Vince pulled back, hands coming up to frame Howard’s face. His thumbs stroked over the sparse facial hair Howard had managed to grow. “What’s this?” he asked, laughing as he traced the shadow of a mustache.

“It’s my mustache, sir.”

“That’s not a mustache,” Vince protested. “That’s a cappuccino stain.”

“Cappuccino?” Howard pretended to be outraged. “This is more of a mocha, my good sir. I’ll have you know, this is the work of at least a week.”

“A week?” Vince laughed, leaning in to kiss Howard again. “That’s a week? In a week, I can almost have a beard.”

“I don’t believe you.” Howard freed the hand from Vince’s shirt, using it to cup his jaw. “I bet you’re still baby-smooth from the ball.”

Vince’s eyes glinted as he pulled back again. “Wanna bet?”

He grabbed the hem of his shirt and began pulling it over his head.

Howard started to tell him to stop, but his voice froze with his breath when he realized that he was staring at Vince’s belly, at his chest, at the way the hair had most definitely not grown back, at least, not there.

Under his arms was as stubbled as Howard’s face, and Howard reached out a gentle finger to trail down the skin.

Vince giggled, twisting in Howard’s lap. “No, stop!” he cried, trying to grab Howard’s hand. “Please! Mercy!”

Howard found that tickling Vince was very much more fun than stopping, but once he’d gotten him on his back in the middle of the floor, leaning over him, he found that tickling him was no longer the most pressing thing. No, that would be his erection digging into Vince’s hip.

“Um, Howard?” Vince bit his lip, staring up at Howard as he lowered himself down so that he was blanketing him. “Howard. We’re at my job. I can’t exactly have sex right now.”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, right.” Howard pushed himself up. Vince sat up slowly, tugging his shirt back into place.

“So,” Vince said, once he’d stood up and retreated behind a counter cluttered with a register and several pieces of cloth. He picked one up and began stitching neatly. “You came to find me.”

“Yes, sir, I did.” Howard set his hand next to Vince’s, waiting for him to look at him and see the brilliant smile on his face.

“What about your bride?”

“Fiancée,” Howard corrected. “I managed to get the wedding pushed back long enough that I managed to escape. Oh,” he said as he remembered the trunk. “I brought your sewing machine with me.”

“Really?” Vince dropped his mending and vaulted the counter. He joined Howard at the trunk, hands clasped in front of him while Howard undid the fastenings. At the first sight of his machine, he sighed in delight. “Oh, Howard, thank you!” He threw his arms around Howard and hugged him. “No one’s ever done anything so nice for me! Not even when my mum came back and tried to raise me. All she wanted was the money I could bring her. It was why my dad left her.”

“I was wrong,” Howard murmured into Vince’s hair, pressing a kiss there too. “You’re the hero and the damsel in distress all at once.”

“What?” Vince pulled back to stare at him in confusion. “Howard, what does that even mean?”

“Nothing, little man. Nothing at all.”

“Look, I’ve got to get back to work now before my boss comes back and bites my head off. You’re welcome to stay.”

“Okay.” Howard set the sewing machine on the counter with the register, turned the trunk on its side, and sat down on it.

He was content, his chest fit to burst with all the happiness inside him. He knew without a doubt that this was where he was supposed to be, that he was with who he was supposed to be with.

Today had turned out perfect.

~ * ~


	5. Four

~ * ~

Vince’s boss never came back, and he said that meant he was probably off getting hookahed with his familiar.

“Familiar?” Howard raised an eyebrow.

Vince shrugged. “He’s a magic man, a shaman,” he explained. “His familiar is this giant gorilla named Bollo.”

“Gorilla? Are there many of those walking about here?”

“No, just Bollo. He and Naboo took me in when I got here. They even let me sell my clothes here.” Vince turned to the large stack of clothing beside the counter. To be honest, it looked like the clothing worn by the tarts and floozies of Camden. From the distorted view out the window, Howard had noticed the people here dressed as he did: demurely in shades of muffin and bran, in cuts of tweed and corduroy. “Haven’t sold anything yet.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Anyway,” Vince brightened, “it’s time to close the shop. I live in the flat upstairs. Wanna come with me?”

Howard didn’t bother to answer, instead standing up and hefting up the trunk. Vince grinned at him, throwing the lock and turning the sign before he led Howard upstairs. He grabbed the sewing machine on his way past the register.

Vince’s rooms were neat if nearly full of material. He set the machine down in the front room on a table.

“Let me make you a cup of tea. We can catch up. Then, we can decide where to go from there.”

“Sex?” Howard asked. He blushed at the direct look Vince gave him.

“Sure. If you want. Yeah.”

“Only if you want it too.”

Vince looked conflicted. “Maybe not tonight,” he finally said. “Tea first. Then conversation.”

Even though Howard would have liked to lie with Vince, he could see the appeal in doing things this way first. Slowly, get to know one another first, see if the scene on the shop floor wasn’t just a fluke.

Howard nodded to show his approval.

Vince smiled at him. “Thank you.”

For some reason, that made Howard sad. It was as if Vince hadn’t thought his choice would be respected. Or that Howard would disregard it anyway. What kind of life had Vince had?

Howard vowed then and there to give him a better life than he’d ever experienced.

Starting with tea and conversation.

And maybe one more kiss.

~ * ~

Vince balanced the register while Howard slept upstairs. Howard knew this because Vince had left him a note telling him as such when he woke up alone.

He slipped down the stairs, not sure what to expect. He’d told Vince about the letters he’d written, told him about how he’d known that he’d loved him since he was ten.

Vince had smiled, shyly, and asked if Howard wanted him to read them. Howard hadn’t responded, instead pulling Vince down so that they were sprawled on the bed, Vince’s head on his chest.

“I don’t care,” he finally decided when Vince snaked his arms around him. “I love you anyway.”

Now, here he was, perched on the bottom step, staring out into the empty store while Vince counted coins, writing down sums and muttering to himself. He seemed to be having trouble with it, which made no sense to Howard as Vince was great with numbers…wasn’t he? Didn’t he have to be to make clothes as beautiful as he did?

“Do you want me to do that for you?”

Vince jumped at the sound of his voice, coins scattering across the counter and the floor as he clutched at his chest. “You scared me!” he accused, dropping to his knees to gather the coins. Howard knelt next to him, picking up a few pence coins. As he watched, they turned into Euros when he handed them to Vince.

“Magic?”

“Magic,” Vince agreed.

“That must make it very difficult to count.”

Vince dumped the coins back into the register. “Yeah except, I haven’t sold a stupid thing since I’ve been here. The amount in the drawer is always the same. Naboo just makes me count it every night and morning.”

“Why?”

Vince shrugged. “I don’t know. He handed me a key, told me never to leave the shop unattended, and then disappeared into thin air.”

“Well. Do you think he’d mind if I helped you? You did promise to teach me your trade so that I could earn a living like you.”

Vince grinned, slamming the register shut. “I’m sure he’d be delighted. Now he can smoke twice as long ‘cause you can watch the shop when I go get more material for the clothes.”

“And I can model them for you.” Howard eyed the pile next to them with distaste. “Well, not those ones,” he amended.

Vince laughed. “No, perhaps not.” He paused, sighing softly as he studied Howard. “I really am glad you found me,” he said. “How’d you know I came to Leeds?”

“We’re in Leeds?” Howard frowned. “My cousin, the one who helped you dress up, she lives here. With her girlfriend.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she’s probably not back from my botched wedding yet, but as soon as she is, I shall ring her, and we’ll go round to visit her.”

“I’d like that. Now, I believe we were in the middle of something before I remembered I had to count Naboo’s money.”

The grin he gave Howard was not at all innocent, and yet Howard felt like he was the wolf leading a lamb to slaughter when he took Vince’s hand. Surely Vince was more experienced? Surely he was the wolf? But, no, Howard felt like his touch was a brand, marking Vince as something corrupted. Perhaps that was just his father’s voice echoing in his mind, telling him that no son of his would lie with another man.

Well, his father was far too late. He’d already lain with Vince. And he would lie with him again and again. Nothing could stop him now. Not even the feeling that he was making a mess of both their lives when he gently pressed Vince onto the bed, slipped his hands under his shirt, and caressed his lithe body.

He shushed the voice in his head with Vince’s lips.

When he came that night, it wasn’t with just his hand wrapped around his length.

~ * ~

Howard woke with Vince tangled around him.

Moist breath ghosted along Howard’s temple, Vince’s mouth pressed to his skin.

Sunlight fell across the bed, staining their skin with warmth.

It was perfect. Today would be perfect.

Howard shifted so that Vince moved down into his arms. “Morning,” he said when he noticed that Vince was blinking blearily at him.

“G’morning,” Vince yawned. “Time is it?”

“Early still.”

Vince reached across him to grab a clock off the side table. He stared at the face for a few moments before dropping it down and dragging his hands through his hair. “Not early enough. I’ve got to open shop in about twenty minutes. Wanna come with?”

“Of course. Do we have time for breakfast?”

Vince shook his head. “I don’t eat breakfast anyway. We’ll go for lunch though. I’ve got to pick out some more fabric.”

Howard let Vince drag him to the tiny bathroom where they shared a toothbrush and a comb, and then they were downstairs, Howard tucked into a corner while Vince counted the coins quickly.

“So, is your boss likely to pop in today?” Howard was actually looking forward to meeting—what had Vince called him? Naboo?—although he was almost certain that he’d already met the fellow. Not many gorillas wandering around Leeds. Probably not many shamans either.

“Yeah, probably. He might come back just to go upstairs and sleep off a bender. He’ll be pissed out of his mind. Yesterday was a bank holiday.”

“How many bank holidays have you had here that you already know how your boss reacts to each one?”

Vince shrugged. “Just the one, but Naboo made sure I’d know what to do in case of various scenarios.”

“And have they come to fruition?”

Vince gestured to the empty shop. “Does it look like it?”

He flipped the sign from closed to open and stepped back.

Howard watched the door, at the passing people he could see. Not a one of them even turned their heads to look at the _Nabootique_.

Hours passed while Vince folded and refolded the clothing he’d made that would never sell here and Howard spent time watching him and the door in equal measures.

Finally though, Vince dug out a sign declaring him out to lunch and stuck it on the door. Then, he took Howard’s hand and led him out into the sunshine.

“Yesterday was overcast,” Howard remarked as Vince locked the door.

“Yeah. What’s your point?”

“I liked it better then. Now you can see the cracks and the dirt. It makes it seem less magical.”

“Magical?” Vince frowned at Howard. “Leeds isn’t magical. It’s boring. Camden was magical.”

“Oh yeah?” Howard countered. “And what makes Camden so magical?”

Vince stopped him with a hand to his chest. “You, you berk.” He rose on tiptoes to kiss above Howard’s mouth.

Howard gripped his arms, pushing him away. “What if someone sees?” he hissed.

“What of it? No one cares.”

He swept an arm out to encompass all the people passing them by. He was right, though, and neither Howard nor Vince drew any more looks than the shop had.

Nervous, Howard stepped back into Vince’s arms. Slowly, he leaned down until he could press his mouth to Vince’s. He waited for a ten-count, expecting someone to rip them apart and start berating them for being abnormal and unnatural.

When no one stopped them, he dipped Vince lower, deepening the kiss until Vince wriggled away, giggling uncontrollably. “It’s almost like you never got to show affection,” he observed. “Anyway. I’m hungry now. There’s this really great tea shop around the corner. Let’s go.”

It wasn’t until they crossed the threshold that Howard remembered he’d managed to grab all the worldly possessions he could ever have wanted from his father’s castle except money.

“Vince,” he hissed, gripping his shoulder tightly. Vince shrugged him off, dancing through the crowd until he could drop an air kiss on the cheek of the clerk.

“The usual, Vince?” she asked, and he nodded, holding up two fingers. “Double?” Her eyes scanned the crowd, picking out Howard immediately.

Vince dug out a few coins and dropped them into her hand, heading back to Howard and leading him to a small table.

“Food will be ready in a few minutes.” Despite the fullness of the building, it was pleasant, the conversations no higher than a hum, and Howard found himself relaxing enough to reach across the table for Vince’s hand.

Already he was comfortable being seen in public lusting after Vince, after, dare he say, his boyfriend.

In Camden, he would never have felt this way. He never would have had the courage to draw Vince’s hand to his lips. Vince grinned at him  when he realised what he was doing.

“We should get married,” he said when Vince’s face didn’t falter as he kissed up his hand and to his wrist.

At that, Vince pulled away. “Are you sure?” he asked, worry creasing his face. Howard smoothed a thumb over his frown, nodding as he moved the digit.

Vince’s smile returned, and when the clerk dropped two sandwiches and a pot of tea on the table, he exploded, “I’m getting married!”

“That’s wonderful. Is this the lucky man?”

“Howard Moon, at your service.”

“Moon? Like the king of Camden who’s offering a reward for the safe return of his only son?”

“No,” Howard stammered. “No relation.”

Vince laughed, covering Howard’s hand with his own. “He is, but he hasn’t been stolen away. He came to see me. Isn’t that lovely?”

Doubt pinched the clerk’s face, but she nodded. “And you’re getting married?”

“Just as soon as we can.” Vince threaded their fingers together. “It’ll be genius. Him and me to the end of time. Forever and a day.”

The clerk shrugged. “It’ll be your funeral. Vince, I’ll miss you. Howard, is it? Take good care of him. He’s a special one.”

“Don’t I know it.”

She clicked her tongue, returning to her place behind the counter.

Howard couldn’t explain the chill that came over him then, but when he looked up, the crowd was silent, staring at the doorway.

“Howard?” Vince whispered. With his back to the door, Vince couldn’t see what Howard could: Rudy and Spider and the dungeon guard, simply known as the Hitcher.

“Don’t turn around,” Howard said out of the corner of his mouth. Of course, that just made Vince spin in his seat.

The Hitcher was the dungeon guard because he was horrifying both in visage and in actions. He could move almost too fast to be seen and his breath could skin a cat.

He was entirely green either through genetics or some laboratory mishap and could make the thumb of his right hand grow or shrink on command.

He used this large appendage to lift Vince out of his chair with a single pressure point under his chin.

“Well, well, what have we here, squire?” he asked. Vince gurgled on his thumb. “A pretty lady-boy, eh? Too bad I only rape aquatic mammals.” He shook Vince gently. “Looks like you’d be good for the mileage. Eh, Prince? What does he feel like on your cock?”

A look came over the Hitcher’s face, and Howard shuddered, feeling sick to his stomach. He hadn’t ever had to deal with the Hitcher, but he’d heard rumors. He needed to stand up, protect Vince, because that look on the Hitcher’s face meant he was considering changing his rapist rules.

“Enough, Hitcher,” Rudy snapped suddenly, jerking Vince off the Hitcher’s thumb. “The king wants him alive. He wants the honor of executing this abomination for stealing his son away and insulting the honor of both his and King Jaquettie’s families. Spider?”

Spider drew a thin metal chain out of his uniform, wrapping it tightly around Vince’s wrists.

Howard finally stood up. “Now wait just a minute,” he begged. “Please? Vince has done nothing wrong. If my father wants to punish anyone, he should punish me. I’m the one who ran away.”

“Ah, but who did you run away to?” Rudy jerked Vince by the chain around his wrists. Howard almost wished Vince would say something, but he seemed struck dumb, looking from guard to guard to guard. He didn’t fight them when they dragged him out into the street and into the waiting royal carriage.

The Hitcher shoved Howard in after them, slamming the door before Howard could think to grab Vince and run.

“How far from Camden is Leeds?” Howard asked.

“About three hours,” Spider replied. Vince looked small squished between the two guards. The Hitcher was behind the wheel, and Howard wasn’t certain that the arrangement was a smart move on the part of his father.

“Three hours,” Howard repeated. He had three hours left. Three hours to either convince the guards to let him and Vince go or to say goodbye to Vince.

The Hitcher’s words came back to him then, and he blushed, not wanting to think of Vince beneath him, moving in time with him. They hadn’t done more than touch each other, Howard too uncertain in his movements for them to be anything but fumbling. Vince had been confident but unwilling to do more than loan a hand for Howard to use for pleasure.

To think that now he was imagining what Vince would look like, spread across a bed, Howard between his thighs, made Howard feel as sick as if he’d been the one to threaten to rape Vince.

“Surely you can see that I can’t return to my father’s kingdom.”

“And why not?” Spider asked. He looked from Howard to Vince and back. “Your father only wants the best for you.”

“That’s my line,” Rudy said quietly. He sighed, sliding the glass panel between the driver and the passengers closed. “Howard, I understand your concern. You are right that your father will not tolerate your transgression nor the fact that it was with a man. Vince might well die, and we are powerless to help you because we can’t stand up to your father without consequence.”

“And you think I can?” Howard shook his head. “There’s a reason I ran away.” He turned imploring eyes upon Vince, begging him to say something, anything.

Instead, Vince stared straight ahead, hands in his lap. At least they were in front of him.

“I can’t,” Howard began. “This can’t be the end.”

“So don’t let it be,” Rudy said. “Prince Howard, you have a duty to yourself and to your…Vince.”

“And how am I supposed to stand up to my father when no one else will?’

“Sometimes it helps to look inside yourself for the answer.”

“What?”

“Just something I say.”

Spider leaned towards Howard. “Ever since he took that course offered by the psychedelic monks, he’s been even more full of shit. Don’t pay him any mind. Except that part about you standing up to your old man. Yeah, you’re on your own for that.”

Howard bit his tongue to keep in the uncharacteristic curses he wanted to spit at them. Instead, he settled for calling them cowards in his head.

He’d had a taste of freedom, of real love, and he wasn’t ready to give it up.

“At least take the chains off for the journey,” he said. “Where’s he meant to go? The doors are locked and we’re moving.”

Rudy moved his hand across Vince’s wrists and the chain fell away. “Go on then.” He lifted Vince easily and dropped him onto Howard’s seat. “Say your goodbyes.”

Howard took Vince’s hand in both of his. “I will think of something, I promise. This is not the end, little man.”

Vince turned to him, eyes large, luminous, beautiful. “All right, Howard.”

He didn’t speak another word.

~ * ~


	6. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Hitcher

~ * ~

The king was waiting for them when they pulled up to the castle.

Half an hour outside of Camden, Rudy had replaced the chain and tucked Vince back in between himself and Spider.

Howard wanted to protest, but his chest was tight with the tears he refused to cry. Instead, he tried channelling his growing grief into righteous anger.

It had nearly worked by the time the royal carriage stopped in front of the castle.

“My son, you are returned.” The king pulled Howard into a tight embrace.

Next to the king was Jeanne. She looked amused at the way the king refused to let go of Howard.

Vince was pulled from the carriage by his hair, the Hitcher all but carrying him to the king. “The villain of the story, my liege,” he crowed, shaking Vince.

“Throw him into the dungeon. He shall be put to death on the morrow.”

“Father,” Howard said. “Father. Don’t do that to him. He hasn’t done anything to deserve death.”

“No? Perhaps you will see it my way once you realize that you shall never leave this castle ever again.”

“You can’t do that!” Howard exclaimed. “What happens when you need me to take over the throne?”

“You shan’t touch it ‘til I can confirm myself that every unpure thought, every unclean touch has been swept from your body.”

Howard conjured the image of Vince spread before him again, willing his length to rise. “You mean these unpure thoughts?”

Jeanne giggled behind her hand, while Howard and his father stared each other down. The king dropped his eyes first, snapping his gaze onto where Vince still hung limply from the Hitcher’s fingers.

“Tie him to the rack. Seventeen lashes for every night my son was gone. Seventeen more for inciting abominable images in my son’s mind. Seventeen more for dressing as a woman and tricking me.”

At Howard’s horrified stare, he nodded. “Oh, yes. I know about the ball. How you tried to slide him right under my nose in the hopes that I would allow you to marry him. Hitcher, how many lashes are we up to now?”

“Fifty-one, your highness.”

“Make it an even seventy. Make the boy bleed. Show him no mercy.”

The Hitcher smiled, bowing low, his top hat held to his head by the hand not holding Vince. “As you wish, my lord. Come, boy, and you shall taste the edge of my whip. Oh, you’ll beg for mercy before the end, but don’t think that the Hitcher is going to give it to you.”

Vince struggled then, clawing at the Hitcher’s hand, mouth finally unstuck after nearly three hours of complete silence.

“Gerroff me, you green bastard! Let go of me! Howard! Howard, help me!”

Howard moved towards them only for his father to jerk him backwards. “Let me go!” he yelled, breaking free. He ran to Vince, shoving the Hitcher back against the carriage. “Let him go!”

“Guards.”

Rudy looked apologetic while Spider looked blank as they restrained Howard. The Hitcher used the distraction to haul Vince away. When he didn’t stop screaming, the Hitcher shoved his large thumb into his mouth to gag him. Vince choked on it, and the look the Hitcher gave him made Howard’s stomach twist into knots.

“No. Father, please, don’t do this to him. Father, please.” Howard dropped to his knees, covering his face. Tears streamed down his face, but this time he wasn’t ashamed.

How could he be when the man he loved had been ripped so cruelly from him?

His father knelt next to him. He probably expected Howard to throw himself in his arms. Instead, Howard shoved away from him, hauling himself upright.

“I’m going to get him out,” he declared. “And then we’re going to leave again. You can’t stop us. You _won’t_ stop us.”

The king’s face hardened. He snapped his fingers, and Rudy and Spider grabbed Howard again. “You can’t leave if you can’t escape.”

“Throw me in the dungeon then. Let me be with Vince.”

“Out of the question.”

“Then we have nothing to talk about ever.”

Howard shut his mouth. He knew without a doubt that he’d be stashed in his room, but it was still a prison.

The only bright spot in this predicament was that the letters he’d written to Vince were still in Leeds in the trunk. He had no doubt that his father had searched for them. Perhaps he’d even ask Vince about them.

Seventy lashes.

Vince would be torn to pieces before the Hitcher even reached twenty. Howard needed a way to rescue his damsel in distress.

But first, he needed to be rescued himself.

Some hero he was.

Howard sank down onto his bed when Rudy and Spider threw him into his room. They set up watch in the front room. That was always going to be the difficult route. That left the window.

The bars had been reinforced, and no matter how Howard worked at them, he couldn’t get them to budge.

Frustrated, he sat on the bed again. He needed a plan of attack, but his mind kept spinning away, drawing back to the perfect night he’d spent in Vince’s arms.

What he would give to feel the touch of his lover again.

He curled up in as tight of a ball as he could make his body, pressing his face into his knees as he dropped onto his side. He cried himself to sleep.

~ * ~

Howard dreamed there was a gorilla lumbering about his room, digging through his closet, throwing his pens and journals every which way, muttering about ball bags who stole good help.

Howard woke up for real when a pair of his pants smacked against his face.

He stretched out, staring in disbelief at the very real gorilla standing in the middle of his destroyed room.

The door to the outer room stood open, and neither Rudy nor Spider was in view.

“Where Vince?” the gorilla grunted.

“Dungeon,” Howard replied, already on his feet. He marched out of his rooms, heading down the twisting hallways. The entrance to the dungeon was by his father’s chambers. Perhaps it would be guarded, but certainly they weren’t expecting a gorilla.

“Where’s your master?” he demanded.

“Shaman is with king.” The gorilla answered.

“Very well.” The distraction would be enough. “That leaves the Hitcher. Possibly some of the other guards. Think you can handle them?”

“Won’t have to if Naboo does job properly.”

“And what is Naboo supposed to do?”

Howard opened the door to the dungeon. He still had nightmares about being trapped down here even though, to his knowledge, he’d never even stepped foot inside it in his entire life.

“Smells like death,” the gorilla remarked as they headed down the stairs.

Howard silently agreed with him. “What did Vince call you?” he asked. “Something with a B.”

“Bollo.”

“That’s right. Bollo.” Howard stopped, turning to the gorilla. “Thank you, Bollo, for being here.”

“Here for Vince, precious flower. Not for Harold ball bag prince.”

“It’s Howard.”

“Whatever.”

Howard let it roll off his shoulders. He had more pressing matters right now. He’d been rescued. Now it was Vince’s turn.

“Why can’t I hear him?” he wondered out loud.

He didn’t get an answer until they stepped off the stairs and into the dungeon proper.

Vince had been spread over a table, tied face down. The Hitcher had used his shirt to gag him. His back was a bloody mess, beaten to a pulp.

The Hitcher was behind Vince, hands hooked into his trousers as he worked them down Vince’s legs. Vince wasn’t making it easy for him, kicking and fighting despite the obvious pain he was in.

Tears and snot ran down his face as he shook his head side to side, begging even though it was muffled badly by the gag.

The Hitcher laughed when he caught sight of Howard. “Nice of you to join us, squire. Did your old man decide to have you join us? I’m only half way through the whipping. Thought I’d give him a little taste of the deviance he tried to entice you with.”

“Isn’t that being hypocritical?” Howard asked, edging closer to the table. Vince saw him and redoubled his efforts, nearly dislodging the Hitcher from his rear.

“Not me, squire. I’m a rapist, remember?”

“Aquatic mammals, yes, I do recall you mentioning that.”

“Well, I’m making an exception for this bitch-boy.” At the insult, he jabbed his growing thumb against Vince.

“No. No, not that,” Howard rushed out, moving to intercept the digit. “If you really want to hurt someone, do it to me. Vince…Vince is innocent.”

“Not here, he isn’t.”

Bollo roared suddenly, and the Hitcher drew back in surprise. “:What’s this then? Eh? A gorilla? Where’d you get one of those, squire?”

“He’s mine,” the turban man, shaman, Naboo said. “Get ‘im, Bollo.”

Bollo rushed the Hitcher, chasing him away.

“Get Vince to safety, Howard,” Naboo said. “We’ll take care of the rest of it.” He shuffled after his familiar, leaving Howard with Vince.

He found a knife, thankfully clean, and used it to slice the ropes off of Vince.

He helped him off the table, doing up his trousers while Vince yanked his shirt off his head, pulling it on.

“Come on, Howard. Let’s get out of here.” His voice was hoarse, throat shredded no doubt from the screams the Hitcher had drawn out of him.

“Let’s.”

Howard held Vince, supporting his weight as they headed up the stairs.

“Do you hate me?” Howard asked.

“No, Howard. I could never hate you.”

“But you’re here because of me. You’ve been beaten, nearly raped, because of me.”

“Not because of you.” Vince stopped, forcing Howard to stop with him. “You didn’t chain me up, tie me down. You didn’t wield the whip or try to rape me. You’ve been nothing but good to me since you came back to me.”

“If you’d never met me,” Howard tried, and Vince put his hand over his mouth.

“Stop. Just, please, stop. I don’t hate you, Howard. Nothing could make me hate you.” He let Howard move his hand so he could press a kiss to the back of it. “I would endure a million blows and a million rapes if it meant you’d rescue me every time.”

“Hey, lumps, get a move on, will ya?” Naboo poked Howard in the back, his fingers sharp and painful.

Howard hefted Vince into his arms and started moving again. Behind him, Naboo shuffled in place. “Come on, you great Northerner, I want to see the sun again.”

“I’m not a Northerner,” Howard corrected. “I’ve lived in Camden my whole life.”

“Your mum was from Leeds. You’re from Leeds.”

“That is not how it works.”

“Whatever. Want me to heal him?”

Vince nodded against Howard’s shoulder. “Please.”

“Wait until we’re at the top,” Howard said. “I don’t want to drop him.”

Howard half expected more guards to be waiting for them, but the hallway outside of his father’s chambers were empty.

“Can you make it back to my room?” he asked Vince. He shook his head, and Howard set him down, stepping back so that Naboo could do magic.

The shaman pulled out a bottle filled with liquid greener than the Hitcher. He uncorked it, spitting the cork at Howard before jerking Vince’s head up, thumb pressing against his lips until he opened his mouth.

Then, he shoved the neck of the bottle between his lips and tipped it upside down. Vince spluttered, much of it splashing down his chest as he choked.

“Stop it,” Howard shouted, lunging for the bottle. Naboo pulled back, glaring at him. “You’re killing him.”

“You wanted me to heal him. I did.”

“He did,” Vince confirmed right before he leaned over Howard’s shoes and vomited a stream of green-tinged bile. He grinned at Howard, a frightening sight with his teeth stained green, and toppled sideways, unconscious.

Howard grabbed Naboo by the front of his robe. “What did you do to him?”

“Just take him to your room.” Naboo remained unfazed. “Make sure he stays warm.”

Bollo loomed out of the dark, and Howard dropped the shaman. He scooped up Vince. Already he was cold to the touch.

“How long will he be like this?” he asked, looking up to find himself all alone in the hallway. “Bastards.”

Vince didn’t stir as Howard carried him to his rooms.

He remained unbothered the entire way. Not even any of the servants showed their faces. That suited Howard just fine.

He laid Vince down on his bed, covering him with every blanket he could find. When that didn’t seem to help at all, he kicked off his shoes and crawled into bed with him.

 The warmth of his body was sucked away, whisked away to Vince where it did no good.

Howard rubbed at his skin, at the unblemished expanse of Vince’s back, and waited.

Finally, after nearly an hour, Vince stirred. He was still chilled, and immediately his teeth began chattering. He burrowed into Howard’s side, limbs wrapping around him.

“Why’m I so cold?”

“Probably the potion.”

“What about your father? Aren’t you worried he’s going to catch us here, together?”

“Yes,” Howard said, “but I don’t care. The same way you’d go through the torture you suffered a million times, I’d stand up to my father a million times more. I will never again let someone else decide what’s best for me.”

Vince nodded, lowering his head to Howard’s chest. Softly, he whispered, “Thank you.”

Howard stroked a hand through his hair, listening to his breath evening out. “No,” he finally whispered, when he was certain Vince was asleep, “thank you.”

~ * ~

The castle was still deserted when Howard and Vince left it two days later.

There had been no one anywhere at all, and Howard had delighted in the freedom of showing Vince around, making him food in the spacious kitchen, rifling through his father’s study.

It was sobering to find the agreement between the king of Paris and his father. Howard had essentially been traded for sixteen acres of land surrounding the French city.

Had he been married to Jeanne, they would have had less than a year to announce a pregnancy and five years to produce two male heirs. One for Paris and one for Camden.

Vince read the correspondence over his shoulder, whistling lowly at them. “That’s horrible, Howard,” he said. He refolded the letters and shoved them back in the drawer they’d found them in. “You’re not some piece in a game to be traded.”

“But that’s exactly what I am,” Howard replied. “As long as I’m my father’s heir, then he can do what he wishes with me.”

“That’s no life at all.” Vince bit his lip, looking around the room. “Is there anything here you need?”

“Like what?”

“Pictures of your mum, maybe? A quilt your nan made you?”

Howard shook his head. “My dad burned all the pictures of my mum after she disappeared. He said it was too sad to be constantly looking at her when she wasn’t really there.”

Vince held out his hand, and Howard took it. “Will you run away with me?” he asked.

Howard nodded. “Wherever you want to go, I’ll be right there with you.” He paused. “Are we going back to Leeds?”

“To the _Nabootique_?” Vince shrugged. “Maybe. I mean, your dad found us there before so maybe not?”

“You’re coming to Leeds,” Naboo said, and they both jumped in fright at the suddenness of his appearance. “I didn’t come all this way, melt down a witch-man, and heal you just for you to quit on me. I need someone to run the shop while I attend to my business.”

“But I haven’t sold anything for you,” Vince protested.

“I know. The shop’s a front. My supplies are tax write offs. As long as I have someone in the shop ready to sell something, I can keep it going.”

“I don’t think we can,” Howard said. “I’m sorry. Truly. But, my concern is the safety of Vince. I can’t have my father showing up again and taking him again.”

Naboo waved away his concern as easily as batting a fly. “He won’t bother you again. I made sure of it. Bollo.”

“Naboo cast spell on ball bag king.”

“Okay, why is everyone a ball bag?” Howard asked.

“Vince not ball bag.” Bollo chuckled to himself. “Naboo made king forget Howard.”

“Forget?” Howard looked around, wondering, not for the first time, where exactly his father had disappeared to. “How’d you do that?”

“Weren’t you listening?” Naboo demanded. “I used a spell. An easy one at that. Just forget whatever’s giving you the most trouble in your life. Apparently that was you, Howard.”

Howard couldn’t explain the hurt those words inspired. He and his father did not get along, but to have been the most troublesome thing in his father’s life was devastating in a way he hadn’t expected.

Vince slipped his hand into Howard’s, squeezing gently. “It’s okay, Howard. I won’t ever forget you.”

Vince was right even if he hadn’t said the right words. Howard did not need his father. In fact, he was better off without him.

The hurt would fade.

Howard would make sure of it.

“Let’s go then,” he said, arm around Vince’s shoulders. “We’ve got a shop to run.”

“Wanna get married?” Vince asked.

“You little tart,” Howard said instead of a real answer. Vince kissed him anyway.

Naboo and Bollo traded annoyed looks but Howard didn’t care. They were the ones who needed them after all.

“Happily ever after,” he told Vince as they climbed onto Naboo’s preferred mode of transportation: a magic flying carpet.

“A fairytale?” Vince thought about it, face scrunched up as his mind worked. Howard smiled at him fondly. “Yeah, okay. But who’s the damsel?”

“We both are.”

“If I marry you now, will you shut up for the rest of the flight?”

“Yes!” both Vince and Howard cried before Naboo could change his mind.

“Happily ever after,” Vince repeated before Naboo enforced the no talking rule.

Howard didn’t mind. It just meant that he and Vince could spend the first hours of their married life snogging.

~ * ~


	7. Epilogue

~ * ~

~ Five Years Later ~

The past five years had been the most challenging and yet most fun Howard had ever had.

Without the responsibilities of running Camden hanging over his head, he had been able to relax. Plus, he’d managed to help Vince find the niche for his clothing, exporting it to a nearby idiot town that emulated Camden so well it was eerie. They even had a king and a prince named Harold Boon of all things. The Vince Noir—sorry, Lance Dior—of the fake Camden town wasn’t a tailor but he claimed he was, buying Vince’s rejects and selling them full price to his fellow city-men.

Vince was thrilled to finally be making money in the shop, and Howard was thrilled to be able to spend every day with his husband.

Neither of them had forgotten what the Hitcher had done or that Howard’s father was the one to orchestrate the attack.

Nearly a year had passed before they’d been intimate past kissing, but Naboo was a good boss for all that he left them on their own in the shop and had set them both up to talk to a few of his shaman buddies, a green witch for Howard and an elderly man dressed in the skin an albino yak for Vince. Slowly but surely, they were able to do more than lie in the same bed, and Howard enjoyed each new thing Vince showed him.

He didn’t mind that they weren’t as the Hitcher had predicted. Instead, he quite enjoyed the arrangement they had, and he knew how special it would be the first time Vince and he switched.

Life was perfect.

Until it all came crashing down the morning of their fifth wedding anniversary. Naboo had agreed to let them have the afternoon off to do as they pleased. Howard was planning a picnic with a lovely stroll in a garden afterwards when the bell tinkled to announce a customer’s arrival.

Since Vince’s clothing line had taken off, the shop got more visitors, and neither he nor Howard thought anything of the ringing bell. Which was why Howard felt like someone had taken hold of his stomach and squeezed it tightly when his father stopped in front of the counter, staring at Vince like he was seeing a long-lost friend.

“You’re all right then, boy?” his father asked.

Vince stared at him. His fingers, where they were curled round the edge of the counter, turned white.

“Father,” Howard said, nudging Vince back enough so that he could shield him with his body. “Why are you here?”

“I came to see my son.”

“Well, now you’ve seen him. Best you move along, sir. Right along. Can’t help you here.”

“Actually, I think you can.” His father reached across the counter. Vince squirmed away while Howard stared down at it. Did his father want him to shake his hand? He did nothing with it, and eventually, his father pulled it away. “I want to apologize. I can’t imagine that you’ve not had the time of your life without me around.”

He stepped back from the counter, going to an old barber’s chair Vince had dragged in from somewhere, and dropping dramatically to the seat. He held a hand to his head, studying them as they stayed behind the counter. Howard wanted what little protection it offered, and Vince seemed content to remain still, as if he thought that lack of movement meant he was invisible.

“I’ve been such a horrible king and an even worse father.”

“How so?”

“I let my people down. Did you know that the people of Camden didn’t love me like I thought they did? They were afraid of me. Ever since your mother left me, I’ve been a beast. I don’t know if you remember what I was like before she left, but I was kinder, had more patience.”

“That isn’t an excuse,” Vince declared suddenly, still securely behind Howard. “Just because your wife left you, you decided to take it out on the person who loved you most? You’re despicable.”

“Don’t you think I know it? I regretted every word I ever said to my son that drove him away, and yes, that includes the words I said against you, young man.”

“I don’t mind you insulting me; you’re not the first.”

“But I am the first to send someone to assault you to stop you from being with my son, am I not?”

Vince didn’t respond.

“This doesn’t feel like an apology,” Howard said. “If you have nothing new to say to us, then we’d thank you to leave us alone.”

The king sighed. “I have news, Howard, news that I think you’d quite enjoy receiving.”

He paused long enough that Howard lost what little patience he’d managed to hold onto, and he snapped, “Out with it, man.”

“I’ve remarried.” He lifted his hand to show them the ring. Howard recognized the signet.

“Jeanne?” he asked. “You married the princess of Paris?”

“Indeed. And she bore me two sons. Howard, I am offering you the chance to abdicate your position in line to the throne.”

A formality to be sure since Howard had no intention of ever returning to Camden. Naboo had been right: Howard was a Northerner through and through. “And once I’ve done that, you’ll leave us alone?”

“If you wish me to,” his father said. “I do wish to reconnect with you. And you, Vince Noir. The man who captured my son’s heart. I want to know you as well.”

“After what you had done to him?”

Vince put his hand on Howard’s arm. “You said Howard’s mother left you. Where did she go? Why did you not tell your son?”

“Because she died shortly afterwards,” the king said. “She fell ill before she left, and then her body was sent back to me. Howard was so young, I thought he wouldn’t remember her.”

“You burned her pictures.”

“Because even though I still loved her, she had chosen to leave me. I was angry. It drove a lot of my choices. It drove my hatred for the people who’d stolen her.”

“And why did you hate Vince so viscerally?” Howard remembered wanting to tell his father about the friend he’d made, and then Vince had never come back, so he’d kept it a secret, except his father had known all along and had been the one to send him away. “Why did you separate us when we were young?”

“Your mother left me for her childhood friend,” the king said simply. “I knew if I let you continue with the cook’s son, you would eventually end up like her too, leaving me alone in the world while you took ill and died. I didn’t want you to die, so I tried to drive the boy away. If I had recognised him as the tailor, I would likely have never hired him.”

“Do you still regret it?” Howard asked.

“No. I only regret that it took shaman magic for me to see the error of my ways. Howard, I’ve missed the last five years of your life because of my small mindedness, but I also know that I haven’t been there for you for much of your life. For that, I am sorry. I promise to do better in the future should you allow me to have a place in your life.”

He turned to Vince. “And now for you.” He drew in a large breath. “I wish I could undo the harm done onto you. I wish I had let you stay in the castle and grow up with Howard. I’ve had to do some soul-searching, but I realised it wasn’t that you were a man that made me upset that Howard had chosen you but rather that Howard had chosen you over me. I resented that he was his mother all over again, and I took that out on you. For that, I am truly, truly sorry.”

“I understand your reasoning,” Vince said, “but you must realise that this is the first time you’ve given either of us an explanation for anything. And you must realise that we don’t have to accept your apologies.”

Howard was proud to hear those words from Vince’s lips. Last he knew, Vince still had trouble admitting that he had no right to hold a grudge against his king, even though they both had renounced their ties to Camden by now.

“I think, Father, we won’t be allowing you back into our lives at this time,” Howard said. “Go back to Camden, raise your sons to be better men than you. Ask again in another five years unless we reach out to you first. Understand that there are still wounds that run deep and they may never fully heal.”

“I wanted to offer the olive branch, but I did not think it would be accepted. To even be allowed to speak has exceeded my expectations, and I thank the both of you greatly.” The king rose from the chair and bowed deeply to both of them. “I hope to hear from you soon, and I wish you the best in your lives, my sons.”

He left without further incident. Almost as soon as the door closed behind him, Howard sagged against the counter, Vince leaning against his back.

“Did that really happen?” Vince asked, face pressed into Howard.

“Yep.”

“And what do we do about it?”

“Nothing I guess.” Howard moved to the door, leaving Vince leaning on the counter, and flipped the sign to closed, locking it as well. He returned to his spot and Vince latched onto him again, on his front this time, tucking his head under his chin.

“I almost wish he hadn’t come here,” he admitted. Howard grunted in agreement. “I mean, we were getting along fine without him butting in here trying to make amends.”

“We don’t have to forgive him. You remember what the shamans said, right? We heal at our own pace. No one can push us, and only we can decide if it hurts or helps us.”

Vince looked around the shop, at the locked door. “I think this one hurts.”

“Right now it does. So right now, we address the hurt.”

“Silver lining is you don’t have to be king ever again if you give up the throne.”

“Thought you didn’t know big words.”

Vince shrugged. “Been reading your books. They have a lot of big words. It was either ask you or learn them.”

“So you learned them. I’m very proud of you.”

“Let’s just go to bed, please. I just need you to hold me.”

Howard nodded. “Happily ever after didn’t work out, did it?”

Vince grinned at him. He still looked shaken, but it was nice to see the smile. “I think if you give it enough time, we’ll get back to our happy ending. Right now, let’s just focus on us. The fairytale can wait for now.”

Howard swept Vince off his feet, carrying him up the stairs. The fairytale could indeed wait because they were the ones writing it.

Gently, Howard laid Vince on the bed. He recalled the first time he’d done this, how right it had felt.

It still felt right.

Howard didn’t think it ever wouldn’t, and for that he was grateful.

“I love you, Vince,” he said. “I’ll always love you. Forever and a day.”

“If I could,” Vince said, watching Howard with amused eyes as he climbed onto the bed after struggling out of his boots, “I would marry you again.”

“Why don’t we then? Have Naboo officiate again. Celebrate our wedding again in style.”

Vince cupped his face, pressing a light kiss to his lips. “Tonight, okay? For now, just hold me.”

So Howard did.

 

~ The End ~


End file.
